


Basin Street Blues

by StoriesWhispered



Series: Bellarke AU Week [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesWhispered/pseuds/StoriesWhispered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 2 – Historical AU</p><p>Bellamy Blake just wants his sister back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basin Street Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, 1920s Bellarke? Sort of accurate, Speakeasies based on real life clubs in Virginia.

Bellamy enters The Drop, a Bohemian cafe, where he’s greeted by a man with a goatee and a smile. He doesn't smile back, just repeats the practiced words, “A trip to the moon.” 

The man smile drops a fraction, eyes scanning him, head to toe, and he fights the urge to fidget in his borrowed suit; finally the man calls for a girl -Harper- to lead him to Clarke’s favorite painting, he follows the brunette, who's wearing men's trousers, but a sparkly lilac top under the white button up, to door that bares the sign that reads: All soap abandon ye who enter here. 

The hidden stairway is louder than he was expecting and he can feel more than see the cloud of smoke, that reaches him before even stepping into the speakeasy. He swallows down a bit smoke and his anxiety, pushing out false swagger with his too short sleeves and hair slicked back with oil, he manages a small smile for Harper as she leads him to the corner booth on the far right. He slides in and ask for Monty’s best shine, Harper smiles enigmatically, like she knows that Raven made him practice the line before letting him put on the stupid suit, but leaves without a word. She get lost in the throng of people within seconds and Bellamy takes the moment to catalog the crowded dance floor, the stage to left with the band playing an upbeat number with a grand piano, and a fully stocked bar, where a pretty brunettes eyes him. 

He’s sitting there for less than a minute when a short blonde in a silver stringy dress comes over, his eyes barely glance over and before she speaks, “No thanks, princess.” Before sitting up straight and shuffling a bit, she doesn't speak, but he hears a huff, and maybe he would be a little less gruff but he's running out of time. 

The Drop is his last chance, Raven’s instructions were clear: Wick would lead him to Clarke, and he would lead him The King. He'd been traveling for weeks, hopping trains, chasing leads until finally someone cracked, and told him about very illegal bar he is currently sitting in. 

Before he can get lost in too many memories of practically breaking down Raven’s door, the blonde unceremoniously plops down across the booth. He looks up to look at her, she's pretty with her blonde hair neatly combed into ringlets that frame her face and dark red lipstick staining her lips, drawing attention to a small mole above said lips. He catalogues everything from her blue eyes to the hint of cleavage the dress shows. 

“You asked for me, doughboy.”

“I asked for Monty-”

“Yes, Raven explained code to you before she sent you, didn't she?”

“Clarke?” He feels suddenly very stupid.

She smiles like she knows exactly what he's thinking,“Now you're catching on,” she says and pulls a long butt, lighting up.

Before he can ask her the next set of practiced lines, another person plops down next to him.

“Wanheda,” a sarcastic, immaculately dressed voice addresses the girl.

“Flamekeeper,” she responds.

“Whats with the gunslinger.”

“Raven sent him, I’m assuming it has to do with Spacewalker, I haven't asked.”

The man finally turns, he's younger than Bellamy was expecting, he acknowledged him with a nod, “What's your business?” 

“I’m looking for girl, my sister.”

“She a hoofer?”

“No, she's missing.”

“You think, we took her.” It's more of a statement than a question.

“No-” he clenches his jaw, “I need help finding her.”

“What if she doesn't want to be found?”

“Then she can say that to my face.”

They both turn to each other, having a silent conversation mostly consisting of raised eyebrows and twitching lips, before she waves her hand, putting out her cigarette in the process. 

“Tell his majesty, I’m taking the night off.”

“Don’t leave without backup.”

“You offering?”

“Let's see if his majesty, can afford to let me go for the night.”

They both crack a smile, so it must be a joke that Bellamy doesn't get, which is fine he barely kept up with most of the conversation. Once, Flamekeeper, has gone out of earshot, he turns back to Clarke or-

“Wanheda,” the title feel awkward and wrong in his mouth. 

She quirks her lips into a fraction of a smile before it disappears.

“Mr.-”

“Blake, Bellamy Blake.” 

“Bellamy-” she draws it out, like she tasting it, “we all have titles, we all have names, you can call me what you want.” She says it like he has a choice, but he has a feeling that he treading in murky waters. 

Before he can really decide what he's going to call her, Harper returns, drops of two cups, “Giggle juice, served cold.” 

She's gone the next instant, and he reaches for the cup, and Clarke does the same, she clinks their glasses together, “To finding your sister, Mr. Blake.” 

He downs the drink in one go, per Raven’s instructions, and regrets it immediately, the moonshine burns leaving a taste of gasoline heavy in his mouth- he's fairly certain it is burning his insides. 

Clarke’s glass is empty and waiting for his, she's smiling like she didn't just drink poison, but there’s a approving light in her eyes, so he's guessing he passed the test. 

He quickly stands a follows her through the crowd until they reach the side of the bar, he thinks for a second that their getting another drink when she passes the bar entirely into a side panel he hadn't known existed until he was sliding into it. She grasps his hand as she leads him through cramped space, he has to duck down to keep from hitting the ceiling, the walls are stone until they reach a brightly lit hallway. Bellamy can't help but look at bulbs, he can hear the hum of electricity and can't help but be dazzled.

The hallway is nothing compared to the room, high crystal chandeliers, beautiful wooden carved frames holding fantastically large paintings.

“Your majesty called.” 

He manages to close his mouth, and find the dark corner that holds a small table with a man leaning back in a comfortable looking chair. 

“Wanheda, your leaving for the night.”

“It's for Raven.”

The man whose face had been impassive until then suddenly becomes highly amused, “She's going to hold Spacewalker over you until she dies.”

“I know.” Clarke, he decides, sound wry but highly amused. 

“Flamekeeper says you're heading to Polis.” 

“I figured I start with Indra, if it's The Mountain or the Red Lady, I’ll come back for backup.”

“You will of course send my regards to the Commander, maybe a gift.”

“Of course, I will stop by Raven’s before picking the car.”

“Excellent, safe travels, good luck Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy nods, trying not to stare. Clarke grabs his arms and leads him away, and he feels nerves and moonshine eat away at his insides. 

They've swing by another hallway and into the dead quiet street at least two blocks from the club. 

He has a million questions on the tip of his tongue: How did he know my name? How many secret codes go on this place? When did he call for you? Who's the red lady? And the mountain? Indra or the commander? What was is that moonshine? Am I gonna go blind? 

He bites his tongue, Ravens instructions ringing in his head, do not ask questions, was rule number one. You are an outsider, Bellamy, and they don't take kindly to strangers who aren't spending. 

But it's hard knowing that he has more leads in less than twenty minutes than he has had in weeks. Sure a lot of what he heard was in code but he has Polis and the name of three possible captors. 

They manage to get to Ravens apartment building fairly fast, without words being spoken. 

Clarke is pulling out keys like she owns the place and strolling in calling out for Raven. She appears slowly from her workshop, the smell of melting metal following her.

“Clarke, I knew knew you wouldn't let me down.”

“Hey Raven, how's the leg?”

“Hurts to all hell.”

“You realize I’m facing Lexa for you. Possibly Allie and Emerson.”

“I’m pretty sure O’s with Indra, but since Anya wants to kill me, I figured it's safer if I send him with you.”

“You're not wrong.”

“It was one tiny explosion-” 

“You burned her eyebrows off.” 

“Not on purpose.”

“That does not help your case, whatsoever.”

They both laugh, and then Raven pulls Clarke into a hug, they whisper and Bellamy can't catch it all but he tries to appear nonchalant staring at coffee table. 

_Sure it's safe?_

_Mountains getting into other lega-_

_She's ruthless._

None of what he manages to catch doesn't sound good. And his internal panic of Octavia which had been subdued flares to life again. He could practically feel the gasoline infused moonshine clawing it's way back up. He’s about to ask Raven for some tea but when he looks up, Clarke is nowhere to be seen.

Raven is staring at him, “If anyone can get O in front of you again it's Clarke.”

“Can I ask questions now?”

“If it's about what the The Drop, no, if it's about your sister maybe.”

He tries not flinch and fails. 

“Clarke is trustworthy, listen to her when you're in Polis. The Commander has a soft spot for Clarke, but she's can be-”

Raven cuts herself off as Clarke reappears from what he assumes is a bedroom, she's changed from her Flapper get up into men's trousers and a white button up, her hair down and loose. He can see a dark spot darkening on the shirt and realized she must have dunked her head into a bucket, the ringlets are gone along with her makeup and for the first time Bellamy realizes how young she really is. 

“How old are you?”

She nose scrunches up in protest but she answers nineteen and she's barely two years older than Octavia. It's makes something twist inside of him, he dismisses it quickly. She's turning her back to him already talking to Raven in low voices, he can hear the teasing tone and realizes that this girl leaving that illegal club was a very big deal.

********************** 

He waits until the two have said a friendly goodbye and driving in a car (no more trains, he thanks God vigorously) before he starts with questions.

“Is it a problem that you left?”

“No, it will cause some heads to turn, but no problems.”

“We're being followed.”

She looks at him, pleased, “We are,” she confirms. 

She must see something on his face because her becomes soft again, younger, “It’s just one of the sheriff's men, Pike does not like the Azgeda family.”

He doesn't really know how to respond to that so he just retreats to his original questions. 

“Where are we going?”

Clarke smiles as she turns the wheel gently onto a road he hadn’t realized existed. 

“There's three gangs that take girls around here, The Mountain, The Red Woman and Trikru. If she's with Trikru she can leave anytime she wants. If it's the other two it will be a lot harder.”

“Whose Indra?”

“She was in the military during the Great War. She trains attics.”

“Why would she have my sister?”

“Indra takes on apprenticeships for different task, mostly girls, trains them to be warriors.”

Bellamy pauses, because as much as he would like to claim that Octavia would never run off and do such a thing, it actually sounds exactly like something she would do. It makes his heart speed up, he drops all the other questions rattling in his brain, instead asking how much further. 

“We’ll be there in twenty.”

***********************

After the war, and Bellamy came home to a different life he had left behind, his mother dead and buried and little sister scrapping metal. He had vowed to make a better life for himself and his sister, one that strayed away from all this Prohibition and the illegalities it brought with it. He simply could not afford to go to prison for a little bit of money and booze.

So when he finds himself in another speakeasy for the second time in one night he has to actively stop himself from fidgeting. He left the suit jacket at Ravens with a sincere thank you for all her help but now he wished he had it now, if only to fidget with the sleeves. 

They were sitting by the live band, which does not allow for much talking but Clarke assures him it was mostly to stop eavesdroppers. 

“We’re in Trikru territory, please follow my lead. I really don’t want to tell Raven that you’ve gone a died.” 

He swallows and nods, hyper aware of how dangerous the night has gotten. He wishes he knew the time, the night suddenly seems to have gone on for eternity; he can feel a buzz in the air, he knows that he is so much closer to Octavia. 

Clarke for the most part has donned her casual confidence but there’s something in her eye when she looks at him, like she can’t place him. He wonders if they’ve met in another life, wonders why she’s helping him now, what she sees when she looks at him. He blinks and the look is gone, she straightens up and continues the conversation without pause. 

“We’ll have a Sit Down with the Commander. Say nothing about recruits or vouching. Or anything about your time served, especially if Gustus is around.”

He nods as he stares at her, she's twisting her hair into a soft plait, golden strand catching the light, she catches him staring and blushes prettily.

“Focus,” her voice is gruff but he can see a smile peeking out, before she hides it. He wonders if she recognizes the lost boy in him, reflected back in her very young years. 

“Whose Gustus?” 

“I am.”

Bellamy turns to see the hulking figure of a man, impressively crammed into a suit, clearly two sizes too small. 

Clarke is already standing, greeting him with a tight smile and motions him to lead the way. Bellamy reaches for her hand without thinking, she squeezes once, gently, it should not be as reassuring as it is. 

More dark hallways lead the way to secret rooms and Bellamy list architect as a possible job for himself, before he is finally led into a grand room. Bigger than The Kings, more grandiose, with a throne set towards the back and a girl, who could easily be an actress from the Picture Palace, gracefully draped onto it. 

“Commander,” Clarke sounds more like the Flapper he found at the Drop, darker and dangerous, colder and calculating. Nothing like the girl in Raven’s apartment, scrubbed clean and from what Bellamy was finally starting to understand is just that, a girl. He has no idea how she became tangled into this mess, where she has a title and fancy clothes that fit her just too perfectly. 

He looks at her now, with her steely gaze, even while she stares down another Gangland leader for him, for O, people she doesn’t even know and suddenly wants to take her with him. Back home away from the city and the crime it brings, to the quiet house that the army had left him. 

It’s stupid and irrational but he feels it in his bones. No matter where she leads him, he’ll follow. 

He snaps back to attention and realizes that while he’s stood there daydreaming, Clarke and the Commander have been conversations, mostly about him, probably his sister. 

The Commander's gaze settles on him, “Where you from?”

Irrelevant, he wants to shout, “Ark, a block from the Factory,” is what he says. 

“Name and brief description of the girl.”

“Octavia, around your height, black hair, blue eyes, but darker than-” he pauses briefly, “Wanheda.”

“This ain’t Chicago or New York, honey, we don’t kidnap little girls here.” 

The new voice comes from the a woman, dark skin, short hair and staring him down.

“We never suggested that, Indra, we are simply wish to speak to the girl, if she’s here, if she’s not will be on our way.” 

Bellamy can’t help but stare at the woman, Raven’s voice echoing in his head: “I’m pretty sure O’s with Indra-”

Suddenly his view is blocked, Clarke has taken a deliberate step in front of him, her chin is tilted up and staring down the Commander. 

“I vouch for him.” 

He’s not sure what he missed while he memorized every detail of the woman who is possibly holding his little sister right now but he’s pretty sure it was important. His muscles tense and he shifts, ready to strike or pull Clarke and run at any moment. 

The Commander’s eyes fly over to him, carefully and calculated, locked on his clenched fist. She nods once, small and mostly to herself, “Gangland Peace, will not break in Polis. Tell them Indra.”

Indra for the most part looks like she’s rather tie them down to breezeblocks but answers nonetheless. 

“Octavia came to me three weeks ago, she has been training hard, she’ll be graduating soon.”

“Can we see her?”

Clarke’s voice does not shake, but she rocks ever so slightly towards him, a warning, Bellamy bites until he taste copper. 

Before Bellamy can change his mind and open his big mouth, Gustus leaves the room, Bellamy breathes a little easier. He shuffles closer to Clarke, ready for just about anything, before he hears it.

“Bell!” 

He barely manages to turn before his arms are full, and in that moment nothing else matters. He squeezes her tight, hears her choked breath, she tightens her arms around him and burrows her head into his chest. 

When she looks up at him, he almost doesn't recognize her. Much like Clarke, she has been given a look in a great attempt to look older, he's annoyed to say it works, his sister looks weary and angry. Before he can question her about everything she pulls away slightly and speaks.

“Bell, we got to go the Mountain, they got Lincoln.”

He looks frowns, turn his head enough to catch Clarke's eye but not enough to lose sight of his sister. Clarke's already looking at them, her smile small but soft and sweet, happy to have helped, he has no doubt. 

She catches his eye, lips pursing, he nods and waits.

“Comman-”

“No, Gangland peace, Wanheda, it does not break in Polis.” The Commander posture is relaxed but her eyes are flint.

Clarke for the most part seems unperturbed, her gaze steady, eyes flicking from the commander to Indra, who Bellamy notices looks uncomfortable. _She does not approve,_ he realizes, _but she won't help, either._

“Of course,” her voice is gravelly, nothing he’s ever heard, “we’ll be on are way, then.”

Octavia shifts in his arms, but he holds her down, silently begging that she will not interrupt. 

“Thank his majesty for the gifts.” Is the clear dismissal, Clarke nods, and she still has a tight smile when she turns away from the Commander but it drops once she fully facing him. 

She walks with her head held high and blue fire burning in her eyes before they find his, she quirks one eyebrow and his lips twitch, her answering grin is blinding. 

Finally he reaches for her, she comes willingly turning her back on the Commander and her goons, Octavia glaring over his shoulder at Indra, and he is suddenly incredibly grateful to have them both in his arms.

They're on the road before Octavia starts firing questions like its her job, Bellamy could pull her back, he knows, switch the focus onto her. Honestly he’s too curious himself, he knows the night is far from over and he knows it will go on a long while but he has a feeling he’ll get the answers eventually. For now, he’s happy to hear his baby sister conspire and throw every questions she can at Clarke, who manages to smile while keeping a dangerous glint in her eye. 

His earlier thoughts echo in his brain: I’d follow her anywhere. 

She opens her mouth and he leans in to listen.


End file.
